The Pirate King: The Bells of Valdara

Posted on Sun Oct 11th, 2026 @ 9:08pm by Darth Serus & Bomoor Thort

5,731 words; about a 29 minute read

Chapter: Additional Stories
Location: Valdara, near the Rishi Maze
Timeline: Sometime between 2,000-1,000 BBY, Height of the New Sith Wars

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This tale takes place during the New Sith Wars, roughly two and a half millennia before the present story. House Verus has been absent from Caanus for nearly two hundred years, its surviving descendants scattered across a galaxy divided between Jedi and Sith.

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"Of all the figures to emerge from the long Verus exile, none has proven more troublesome to the historian than Thane the First. Pirate, mercenary, adventurer, prince and brigand have all been applied to him with varying degrees of accuracy. That he eventually returned to a world he had never seen, possessed wealth enough to restore his House, and was acclaimed Archae of Caanus is beyond reasonable dispute. Almost everything before that moment is not."

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The upper ports of Valdara had never truly been quiet. Even in the gentler hours of the morning there came the distant churn of engines from somewhere beyond the clouds, the groan of mooring cables under tension and the occasional bellow of some harbour-master whose authority diminished in direct proportion to the distance between himself and the vessel ignoring him. Star-galleons hung at anchor at every level of the port, some suspended alongside the great stone quays whilst others waited further out amongst the towers, their broad hulls rising and falling almost imperceptibly upon the thick Valdaran air.

Beyond them there was very little that could properly be called a horizon. The city had been built upon the shoulders of the mountains, where great shelves of pale stone broke through an ocean of cloud. Towers climbed from them in terraces of masonry, copper and iron, joined by bridges sufficiently narrow to discourage prolonged contemplation of what lay beneath. Lower districts could occasionally be glimpsed through breaks in the mist, impossibly far below, before the clouds closed again and swallowed them.

The Wayward occupied one of the outer berths. She was neither the largest nor the prettiest vessel in port. In truth, there were portions of her hull upon which the distinction between deliberate asymmetry and accumulated repair had become increasingly academic. Her atmospheric vanes remained folded along either flank, layered against the dark hull like the closed wings of some enormous insect, whilst a web of cables secured her to the quay. One boarding ramp remained lowered. Several access panels did not.

Somewhere higher in the city, bells began to ring. There were enough of them that this was plainly no announcement of the hour. The sound rolled between the mountain faces and spilled down through the port, bright and celebratory, joined after a moment by a second peal from somewhere still higher.

A wedding, perhaps. Valdara had many of them, and nobody on the quay seemed especially interested.

The bells continued as another freighter eased away from the neighbouring berth, its engines disturbing the cloud beneath it. Dockhands shouted and chains rattled. Somewhere nearby, something metallic struck stone and prompted an impressive sequence of profanity in a language spoken nowhere within several thousand light-years of Valdara.

Then came another sound. Running. Fast running.

It was initially lost beneath the machinery of the port, becoming distinct only as it drew nearer: boots striking stone in an uneven, hurried rhythm, accompanied by the occasional scrape that suggested their owner had little concern for whatever - or whoever - happened to be in the way.

A porter emerged first from the crowd ahead, stumbling sideways with an indignant shout. Then, a luggage cart rolled unattended across the quay. And, finally, Captain Thane Verus appeared.

For perhaps the first time in recent memory, he was magnificently dressed.

His dark hair had been persuaded into something approaching order. A richly embroidered coat of deep crimson sat over an ivory waistcoat, both considerably finer than anything he ordinarily wore aboard the Wayward, and a narrow ceremonial sash crossed his chest. There was even a pale flower pinned neatly at his breast. The effect might have been impressive had he not been running at full speed.

Thane glanced once over his shoulder, narrowly avoided an Ithorian dockhand coming the other way and changed direction immediately upon sighting Saan.

"Saan!"

The bells continued their jubilant clamour overhead. Thane closed the remaining distance at speed, caught his friend firmly by both shoulders and afforded him a broad, breathless smile.

"Wonderful news."

Behind him, somewhere beyond the crowds and considerably further up the quay, came an indistinct roar. Thane's smile faltered by the smallest degree.

"We're leaving!"

Saan was exactly where Thane expected him to be: leaning with casual elegance against the rigging at the top of the Wayward’s gangplank, one boot hooked loosely around a coil of line, posture relaxed in a way that suggested he was just watching the world go by and not keeping a close lookout for trouble at the port, even though that was precisely what he was doing.

The Zeltron’s rosy-red skin caught the pale Valdaran light with a faint, warm sheen, the colour rich and unmistakable even against the dark hull of the ship. His long, ink‑black hair had been drawn back and bound into a tight, immaculate ponytail with the same meticulous care also given to the pencil‑thin moustache that traced the line of his upper lip and the tiny, perfectly shaped patch of beard at his chin, both maintained with a precision that bordered on artistry.

He wore his usual attire: a tough natural fabric waistcoat in deep, muted tones atop a dark breathable shirt that walked the line between practicality and simple elegance. A monocle glinted faintly over one eye, its chain disappearing neatly into the folds of his vest.

In one hand he held a sun‑apple - bright, golden, and freshly bitten. Its crisp scent cutting through the oil and ozone of the port.

He watched Thane’s approach with one eye only, the other fixed with exaggerated interest on the apple as he turned it between his fingers. The captain’s sprint, the dishevelled dockhands, the distant roar from somewhere up the quay; none of it seemed to trouble him. If anything, he appeared mildly entertained.

Thane reached him, breathless, coat immaculate, flower still pinned, urgency radiating from every line of him.

Saan took another slow, appreciative bite.

"Oh, Captain?" he said at last, as though Thane had merely strolled up for a casual chat. His voice carried the smooth, unhurried warmth typical of his species, touched with a faint, knowing amusement. "That is good news."

He shifted his weight slightly against the rigging, still pretending not to notice the chaos gathering behind Thane.

"Anywhere special you want to be heading?" he added, lifting the apple in a small, almost celebratory gesture. "Or shall we just see where the solar winds take us?"

For several seconds, Thane simply stared at him. It was the apple, more than anything, that confirmed it. Saan knew perfectly well that something had gone wrong. The bastard was enjoying himself.

Thane straightened.

"Anywhere?" he repeated, releasing Saan's shoulders and making a small show of adjusting the front of his magnificent crimson coat. "Don't be absurd."

His breathing was already beginning to settle, although the sheen of perspiration gathering about his brow rather spoiled the impression of a gentleman who had merely taken an invigorating morning stroll. Thane brushed a stray lock of dark hair back into place and glanced casually towards the Wayward.

"Hyperspace is rather pleasant this time of year."

A blaster bolt struck the stone quay behind him and Thane flinched. There came a sharp report a moment later, louder and altogether more primitive than the first, followed by the unmistakable whine of something solid passing unpleasantly close to his head. A fragment of masonry snapped from the edge of the berth and disappeared soundlessly into the clouds below.

Thane looked back. The crowd had begun to divide; half a dozen Valdarans were forcing their way through it at considerable speed, their blue skin making them immediately visible amongst the retreating dockhands. Tall, hairless and entirely without noses, they might have appeared almost stately under less murderous circumstances. The fact that each possessed four arms rather diminished the reassurance, particularly when this allowed several of them to carry rather more weaponry than Thane considered sporting. The foremost had a blaster pistol in one hand and an antiquated, bell-mouthed slugthrower in another. A second pair of arms was being employed principally to shove civilians out of his path.

Behind them came more and Thane turned back to Saan.

"Now, as it happens." He stepped towards the gangplank and something shifted beneath his coat. There followed a delicate succession of taps against the stone and Thane stopped. A small violet gemstone bounced once beside his boot, and then another. A third escaped somewhere around his knee, struck the quay and began rolling leisurely towards the edge.

For the first time since arriving, Thane's composure genuinely deserted him.

"No, no, no..!"

He dropped at once, snatching the first from the ground and trapping the second beneath his palm. The third required an undignified lunge before it could vanish over the precipice. Two more jewels promptly escaped from somewhere inside his trouser leg whilst he was crouched.

Another blaster bolt passed overhead as Thane gathered the stones into one hand, stuffed them hurriedly into an inner pocket and rose with as much dignity as circumstances permitted.

"They're mine." A pause, before he added: "Presently."

The bell-mouthed weapon boomed again and Thane ducked instinctively this time, one hand going to the flower still pinned absurdly neatly at his breast. Somewhere behind him a Valdaran voice bellowed something sufficiently furious that several nearby dockhands decided they had urgent business elsewhere. Thane looked towards the Wayward, then back to Saan.

"My dear Saan," he said, recovering enough of his smile to gesture graciously towards the gangplank, "if you would be so good as to get our beautiful lady into the air, I shall be delighted to explain why half the House of-"

He glanced over his shoulder. Another four-armed figure had appeared at the head of the pursuing party, dressed considerably more richly than the others and carrying what appeared to be an ornamental duelling pistol in one hand and a positively enormous blunderbuss in two more.

Thane winced. "Actually, mate," he began, "explanations may be more comfortably undertaken at speed!"

Saan’s expression hardened by the smallest degree; a subtle tightening at the corner of his mouth, a faint narrowing of the eye behind the monocle. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the mostly‑eaten sun‑apple over his shoulder. It fell down the side and vanished into the gutters below the dock with a soft, distant clatter.

“All right, all right, Captain,” he gently conceded his apathy, pushing himself off the rigging with unhurried grace. “Don’t go tearing any more pockets of that fine silk. It might be worth more than those gem‑lets you’re scattering there.”

His hand dropped to one of the blasters holstered at his belt: a heavy, ornate weapon whose polished metal caught the Valdaran light. Then, in a single smooth motion he drew it and fired. A splurge of rapid, heavy bolts tore across the portside, sizzling through the mist and stone. The pursuing Valdarans recoiled at once, shouting in alarm, several ducking behind crates or dragging civilians into cover. None were hit, but the message was unmistakable.

“That’s far enough, fellows!” Saan called, voice ringing across the quay. “We’re not taking visitors today.”

He brought two fingers to his lips and whistled a sharp, piercing command that cut through the bells, the engines and the shouting.

“Boys! Fire the repulsors and seal the hatches for vacuum!” he shouted toward the Wayward. Then, after a beat, “And someone come down and help the Captain get his spoils aboard!”

The ship answered with a shuddering hum, deep and resonant, as systems began to stir.

Saan rose to his full height, stance shifting from loose elegance to something firmer and more in command. His silhouette sharpened against the mist as he levelled his blaster again. One of the Valdarans, braver or simply more foolish than the rest, fired a bolt in return. It scorched past Saan’s shoulder.

He fired back without hesitation.

The shot struck the attacker’s weapon, ripping it from his hand in a burst of sparks. The Valdaran yelped and clutched his wrist, stumbling backward.

“Next one’s in your head, sonny,” Saan warned, his voice low and cold enough to cut through stone.

Then his brow furrowed.

Uniformed figures were pushing through the crowd now wearing dark coats and bearing glinting polished insignia on their collars. They were shouting orders, forcing civilians aside, trying to establish some semblance of control.

Saan’s jaw tightened.

“Now we’ve got trouble,” he muttered.

He glanced sidelong at Thane, the monocle catching a flash of light as the Wayward’s repulsors began to thrum beneath their feet.

Thane followed Saan's glance towards the newcomers and, quite unexpectedly, brightened.

"Oh, splendid! The law."

The first of the uniformed Valdarans had broken through the thinning crowd, four arms helping considerably in the business of clearing a path. Their dark coats were cut high about the neck and reinforced at the shoulders, polished silver insignia catching the light as they moved. Unlike the collection of armed relatives presently advancing upon the Wayward, these newcomers carried themselves with the particular confidence of men who expected everyone involved to stop being difficult simply because they had arrived.

Thane seemed genuinely pleased to see them.

"Seriously captain, let's not antagonise the brass buttons this time," Saan grimaced with half his face, "I don't want to end up on another planetary blacklist again: I really miss going to Felucia, plus the holo-image they used of me was so unflattering."

"No, really," Thane assured Saan, smoothing the front of his coat once again. "I was beginning to worry you'd have to shoot my way out."

"It's still my number two option after high-tailing it," Saan grumbled, lowering his blaster-wielding arm just an inch but keeping it ready.

Behind him, the Wayward gave a tremendous metallic clang and something hissed. A moment later, a cloud of white vapour erupted from somewhere beneath the starboard quarter, swallowing two dockhands and prompting a muffled exchange of accusations from within. The ship's repulsors deepened from a hum into a resonant throb that could be felt through the soles of Thane's boots, whilst somewhere aboard a bell began to sound in steady warning.

Thane glanced back at her. "Beautiful."

The Valdaran officer approaching them did not appear to share his appreciation.

"Hold that vessel!"

"Constable!" Thane called at once.

Before Saan could reasonably have prevented him, the captain stepped away from the gangplank and towards the approaching constables with both hands spread in greeting.

"Thank goodness. Captain Thane, House Verus, lawful Archae of Caanus. I wish to report an attempted murder."

The officer slowed as, behind him, another blaster bolt struck the quay, and Thane pointed over the Valdaran's shoulder.

"Them."

"VERUS!"

The roar that answered him was sufficiently powerful that even Thane's smile briefly tightened.

The richly dressed Valdaran had reached the front of the pursuing party. At closer quarters he was an imposing specimen even by the standards of his species: tall and broad, his four arms clothed in embroidered sleeves of blue and silver, jewellery glittering at wrists and throat. Two hands gripped the enormous bell-mouthed slugthrower, a third held the ornamental pistol, whilst the fourth was occupied almost entirely by the business of shaking a furious fist at Thane.

"There he is! Arrest him!"

Thane gave the constable an indulgent smile. "You see the difficulty."

"You thieving little offworlder!"

"Now, there's no need to make this provincial."

"You stole my daughter's dowry!"

Thane's expression became one of genuine offence. "Wedding gifts," he corrected.

"THERE WAS NO WEDDING!"

For perhaps half a second there was silence between them, whilst the bells continued to ring merrily over the city.

Thane looked upward, then back at the Valdaran.

"Somebody ought to tell them."

The man's blue complexion darkened towards something approaching indigo. "You lied to my family!"

"I did nothing of the sort!"

"You told us you were a prince!"

"I am a prince. A king, really."

"Your House has not ruled Caanus for two hundred years!"

Thane's brows lifted. "An administrative interruption."

"You have never even been to Caanus!"

"Hardly my fault," Thane replied matter-of-factly.

The constable's gaze travelled slowly from one man to the other. His expression had begun with professional irritation, passed through uncertainty and was now approaching the unmistakable weariness of someone discovering that his morning was going to involve paperwork.

Behind Thane, another heavy clunk sounded from the Wayward. One of the mooring lines drew taut with a low creak. A crewman somewhere above shouted something about the portside repulsor, received three contradictory answers, and shouted something considerably less printable in return.

Thane continued to smile - the Valdaran patriarch did not.

"You came into my house. You ate at my table. You drank six bottles of my finest wine-"

"Five."

"Six!"

"Then," Thane replied, "your steward has been stealing from you."

The enormous slugthrower began to rise and the constable immediately placed two hands upon it.

"Sir."

Thane took the opportunity to retreat one discreet pace towards the Wayward. "I courted your daughter honourably."

"You disappeared from the ceremony!" The Valdaran hissed.

"There were developments."

"You climbed out of a window!"

"The door was occupied."

"You took the jewels!"

"They had already been presented."

"They were the dowry!"

"We appear to have reached an unfortunate cultural disagreement concerning the precise moment at which ownership transfers."

The patriarch strained against the constable restraining the weapon.

"YOU'RE ALREADY MARRIED!"

Thane stopped at that. Even the crewman aboard the Wayward seemed, by some miracle of timing, to have stopped shouting. The Caanan captain remained perfectly still for a moment. Then, he turned his head very slowly towards Saan.

"Well," Thane began carefully, "that rather depends upon how one defines-" He reconsidered. "No." He paused. "Actually, that's probably a conversation for the ship."

Behind him, Saan had edged over slightly, intercepting the ship hand that had come down to help the captain and whispering something indistinct to him. The young man had then disappeared back into the ship with his task and Saan gently returned to the top of the gangplank, placing one gold-buckled black boot up on the rim as though this was still a casual chinwag between friends.

"If I might, good sirs," he began, voice cutting and just an ounce more refined for present company, "His royal highness is most delayed for a pre-existing arrangement offworld, but he always settles his outstanding obligations and debts so shall we settle this with a gentleman's handshake for now and reconvene this discussion at a more opportune moment."

Gun now lowered, he gestured with his elbow towards the uniformed officer, "I am sure the authorities would rather not involve themselves in a civil matter between honoured houses."

For one extraordinary moment, Saan's suggestion appeared to work. The constable looked from the Zeltron to the furious patriarch, then towards the Wayward, and finally back to Thane. Behind him, two more uniformed Valdarans were attempting to persuade the gathering crowd that there was nothing worth seeing, a proposition increasingly undermined by the fact that several people had now climbed onto nearby crates for a better view.

"A civil dispute," the constable repeated.

"Precisely," Thane said.

The officer raised one hand and Thane closed his mouth.

"If this concerns an agreement of marriage between recognised houses," the Valdaran continued, "then claims concerning property exchanged pursuant to that agreement may be submitted before the magistracy. I am not prepared to have armed retainers discharging weapons across a public harbour because-"

"Quite right," Thane murmured.

The constable's eyes shifted towards him and Thane smiled pleasantly.

"-because one party now disputes the terms of that agreement."

The patriarch looked ready to rupture something. "He stole from me!"

"Allegedly," Thane added.

"Captain," the constable warned.

Thane mimed sealing his lips as the officer turned back towards the patriarch.

"If you wish to make a formal complaint, you may accompany my officers. Until such time as ownership can be established, I suggest that both parties-"

A crewman emerged from the Wayward. He was carrying an enormous chest.

It was, in Thane's defence, a very handsome chest. Dark blue wood had been reinforced with bands of polished gold, each corner worked into the curling heraldic shapes favoured by the Valdaran aristocracy. A complicated family crest occupied most of the lid. Several strings of pearls had become trapped beneath it and were trailing conspicuously down one side.

The crewman took three steps down the gangplank.

The patriarch stared at him. The constable stared at him. Thane stared at him.

The crewman stopped.

Thane slowly pointed. "Whose is that?"

The patriarch made a noise somewhere between a roar and a strangled cough. "My daughter's dowry!"

Thane's eyes closed. "Ah."

The constable turned towards him with almost painful deliberation. "Captain Thane."

"Yes?"

"Is that chest presently being loaded aboard your vessel?"

Thane looked at the chest, then at the Wayward, and then back at the constable.

"I think 'presently' is doing quite a lot of work in that question."

The constable's lower pair of hands settled upon his belt.

Thane glanced towards Saan. "Your gentleman's handshake may require some refinement."

Saan was suddenly bolt upright, eyes snapping first to the chest and then to the crewman carrying it.

“In fairness, Captain,” he uttered through gritted teeth, “When I told Brinks to secure the cargo for departure, I did not expect him to instead parade it down the gangplank!”

Brinks looked immediately sheepish beneath the first mate's stare and took a cautious step backwards.

Whatever prospect there had been of an amicable settlement disappeared completely when the patriarch surged forwards.

Four arms, Thane discovered, afforded a furious man an unreasonable number of opportunities to seize somebody. The first caught his shoulder, but Thane twisted free. The second grasped at his sash and came away with several inches of ceremonial fabric, whilst the third closed around the front of his crimson coat.

There was a sharp tearing sound and everyone stopped. Thane looked down. A long rip now ran beneath one beautifully embroidered lapel. He looked back up and the patriarch was still holding the missing piece.

"That," Thane said quietly, "was tailored."

Then everything happened at once. The constable reached for Thane whilst the patriarch raised his ornamental pistol. Somebody behind them shouted that the ship was moving,and another voice shouted that it absolutely was not supposed to be moving. The crewman carrying the dowry chest decided that the safest possible response to all of this was to turn around and run back aboard with it.

The Wayward rose. Only slightly, mind - perhaps just half a metre. It was, nevertheless, half a metre more than any vessel still attached to a stone harbour by six heavy mooring lines had any business rising. The nearest cable snapped taut with a sound like a cannon shot.

Thane's hand dropped to his hip and the cutlass came free with a metallic whisper, its pale-blue vibro-edge shimmering into life as he swept it upwards between himself and the patriarchy. The ornamental pistol was deftly knocked aside.

"Now," Thane said, backing towards the ship, "I should stress that I remain enormously fond of your daughter."

"You abandoned her at the altar!"

Thane ducked as the patriarch swung the slug thrower. It passed over his head with sufficient momentum to carry its owner half a step sideways, and Thane used the opportunity to rap the flat of his cutlass smartly across one blue wrist. The pistol dropped. A second hand reached for him; Thane caught it at the elbow, turned beneath it and emerged on the other side of the Valdaran with the expression of a man surprised by his own success.

Two retainers rushed him. Thane stepped onto a mooring bollard, vaulted over the first and landed badly enough that he had to windmill one arm to keep his balance. He recovered immediately.

"Entirely deliberate!" He declared, just before a blaster bolt scorched the stone beside his boot. Thane wasted no time and ran.

“Brinks!” Saan’s voice rang out, slightly more distant than before as he called deeper into the Wayward, “You good for nothing nerf herder! Drop the chest and steady the ship! No, not there! Just get topside before we tear the bloody hull open!”

The Wayward was no longer merely rising - she was drifting. Her repulsors thundered beneath the quay as the broad old vessel pulled away from the berth, dragging her remaining moorings into taut diagonal lines. The gangplank, still lowered, scraped sideways across the stone with a shriek of tortured metal. One cable parted and it whipped across the harbour with such violence that constables, retainers and spectators alike threw themselves flat.

A second tore its mounting bodily from the quay. The liberated iron fixture sailed majestically through the air and demolished a fruit stall. The vendor just stared at the wreckage.

Thane, sprinting past, pointed towards the patriarch.

"He'll pay for that!"

"Verus!"

The gangplank had moved several metres from the edge and Thane stopped.

"Oh."

The Wayward continued to drift. Someone aboard was shouting for the gangplank to be raised.

"Don't you bloody dare!" He growled as he backed up several paces.

Behind him, the patriarch and three of his retainers had recovered. The constables were coming too, although by now their determination appeared motivated less by the original complaint than by a sincere desire to arrest everybody involved.

Thane judged the distance as the Wayward moved another metre away. He frowned - and then ran.

He saw Saan staring back at him across growing gap between portside and the Wayward. His sharp mind was clearly trying to perform the same calculation as Thane and unusually nervous expression on the Zeltron’s face made a lump form in the Caanan’s throat.

Like a pinkish blur, Saan suddenly shot along the deck and drew out his own vibrosabre, shimmering with a violet energy he had tuned in himself. He thrust it firmly but precisely into the gangplank mechanism, causing a violent and unpleasant groan that echoed across the port and the gangplank ground to a sudden halt.

Thane reached the edge of the quay at full speed and jumped. For one unpleasant instant it became apparent that he had misjudged it - the gangplank was too far away. Below him there was nothing but cloud and Thane's expression changed. Then, the final mooring cable snapped and the Wayward yawed violently to port. The gangplank swept sideways beneath him and Thane hit it chest-first.

His cutlass clattered from his hand and slid towards the edge. He caught the rail with one arm, the weapon with the other, and found himself dangling half across the gangplank whilst several kilometres of Valdaran atmosphere waited patiently beneath his boots.

For a moment, he simply hung there. Then, something small slipped from inside his trouser leg. A violet gemstone struck the gangplank.

Tink.

Thane watched it bounce once.

"No." It bounced twice. "No, no-"

The gemstone rolled over the edge and Thane watched it disappear into the clouds.

"Kriff."

Another shot cracked against the underside of the gang plank, which promptly restored his priorities. He hauled himself upwards, scrambled the remaining distance on hands and knees and rolled onto the deck of the Wayward just as the gangplank finally began folding behind him.

For several seconds, Captain Thane Verus lay flat upon his back as his chest rose and fell. His wedding coat was torn and his sash was hanging by a thread. One trouser leg contained rather fewer precious stones than it had five minutes earlier.

Above him, the Valdaran sky remained offensively beautiful. Thane lifted his head.

"Chest?"

The crewman who had carried it aboard peered down at him.

"Safe, Captain."

Thane let his head fall back against the deck. "Good man!" Then, he sat up.

The Wayward had cleared the quay, though only just. Her atmospheric vanes were beginning to unlock along either flank with a succession of deep mechanical clunks, sections of articulated framework unfolding from the hull as the ship turned out over the cloud-filled abyss. Steam and coolant streamed behind her. Crewmen hurried along the deck securing loose lines and shouting contradictory instructions at one another.

Thane climbed to his feet as a shadow moved across the deck. Thane looked up. Across the harbour, another star-galleon was pulling free of its berth.

Where the Wayward was patched, asymmetrical and held together in several places by repairs whose legality was open to interpretation, the vessel turning towards them was magnificent. Its hull was long and gleaming, blue-black beneath elaborate bands of gold. Three tiers of atmospheric vanes were opening along its flanks in perfect sequence, each broad surface carrying the heraldry of the Valdaran house Thane had just grievously offended. Gunports were already opening beneath them.

Thane stared.

"Oh."

The great vessel began to turn its bow towards the Wayward. Recognition slowly softened Thane's expression into something perilously close to admiration.

"He's brought the Aureate." The first of her forward guns emerged from its housing and Thane smiled. "I do like that ship."

With the gentle jingle of an electrum bracelet, Thane felt Saan's hand settle upon his shoulder.

“And I liked my saber,” the first mate’s voice sighed as he joined the captain looking back at the ship readying to fire at them, “But we can’t always get everything we want, Captain.”

Thane looked at his first mate like the very concept offended him. He glanced towards the gangplank, now folding neatly into its housing, and then back at Saan, clapping him hard on the shoulder. "Of course I can!"

The first of the Aureate's guns then fired. There came a tremendous flash from the distant vessel, followed by a brilliant sphere of incandescent energy that tore across the harbour with a low, gathering shriek. It passed above the Wayward's starboard quarter and struck a stone watchtower beyond, sending a great eruption of masonry and dust tumbling into the clouds.

Thane ducked. For a moment, he stared at the destruction. Then, he began to laugh. It started as a breathless chuckle, something between disbelief and delight, before escaping into a great, hearty laugh that seemed quite at odds with the increasingly murderous intentions of the vessel bearing down upon them.

"Oh, he's furious!"

Another gun flashed and this time the projectile passed beneath the Wayward, close enough to illuminate the underside of her hull in a brilliant orange glare. The ship lurched as the discharge disturbed the dense atmosphere around her, sending loose ropes swinging and several unsecured pieces of cargo skidding across the deck.

Thane caught the nearest railing, still grinning.

"Right, then!" He swept his cutlass towards the sky, its pale-blue edge shimmering against the clouds. "All hands to stations!" The cry carried across the deck, answered by the thunder of boots and the clatter of equipment as the crew hurried to their positions. "Run out the guns! Loose the vanes! I want every scrap of canvas, collector and repulsor we've got working before that great gilded bastard puts another hole in my ship!"

He bounded towards the raised quarterdeck, one hand holding his ruined coat together whilst the other brandished his cutlass with considerably more enthusiasm than caution.

"Helmsman! Bring us about, two points to starboard! Engineering, prepare the drives for vacuum and have the hyperdrive standing by!" He turned his beaming face briefly to Saan and then to the advancing danger. "We're leaving this charming little world before its hospitality deteriorates any further!"

Another incandescent shot streaked past the stern. Thane turned, watching it disappear into the mist, and gave an appreciative whistle.

"Ruddy good shooting!"

The Wayward shuddered as her great atmospheric vanes began to spread, enormous articulated surfaces unfurling from the hull and catching the thick Valdaran air. Beneath them, the cloudscape rolled away towards distant mountain peaks, whilst behind them the magnificent Aureate gathered speed, her guns emerging one after another from their gilded housings.

Thane planted one boot upon the quarterdeck railing.

"Now, lads!" he roared, raising his cutlass high. "Set full sail, make ready for the stars, and show these fine gentlemen the meaning of a brave retreat!" He glanced towards Saan, his grin broadening. "And somebody find my first mate another sword!"

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"The star-galleons of the Southern Rim are an uncommon sight beyond the old Rishi routes, though no curiosity to those who make their living there. Broad of hull and notoriously temperamental, they are constructed for passage through both the void and the deepest planetary atmospheres, where their great vanes and collectors may be deployed to harvest fuel and other useful elements directly from the skies.

On worlds such as Valdara, where the atmosphere is dense and settlements are divided by great distances and greater depths, the same vessels have long served as merchantmen, transports and ships of war. It is from these worlds that the name derives. A star-galleon may cross the void as any other vessel; beneath a sky, however, there is little mistaking one for anything else."

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